One Chance in a Hundred

I have just done a purge of my FB friends. If you are reading this you survived the purge! My postings have become more personal Over the last few weeks. Not as many cute dog stories. Now it's humans dealing with cancer Morbid Not everyone's cup of tea. As I shared a big chunk of myself with you And tried to internalise the implications For me I was overwhelmed by the support that came in Emojis, hearts, tears, likes, Lovely comments, flowers, gifts. And then I realised that there were others Who made no response at all Just scrolled on by As you do. Forgotten from the dim dark past Distant relatives Old hiking buddies Where the link that bound us has broken. Delete, delete, delete. I had slipped off their radar But the greatest support has come from amazing places Across the world, old capetribbers, old TAFE warriors, Serendipitous strangers who became part of our lives for a moment Connections made and kept over time Make me feel alive  And apprec...

I have been dreading today My return to the Oncology ward Now relocated to the ground floor And renamed 'Patient Infusion' room. 'Hello Alison' A sense of deja vu Emma the head nurse remembers me from 2011 My old files dug out of the paper based archives Everything's computerised now Nurses wheeling laptops around on trolleys Wifi Order my lunch Settle in with a home made quilt by one of the visitors I carry my hot water bottle on my arm from home to keep the vein warm and swollen Easier to get the needle in And it works first go Very relieved All goes well I have a good book My phone  - sending texts and Ruth rings into chat Time passes Five visits to the toilet attached to the trolley with the bags I keep crashing it into the TV on the ceiling In the toilet lots of notices One catches my eye: 'Cancer might rob you of that blissful ignorance That once led you to believe that tomorrow stretched forever In exchange you ar...

I want to tell you What has happened to me I want the world to know The silent killer of uterine/endometrial cancer Because maybe one day scientists will discover The early warning signs. But when I tell you I have Stage 4 cancer You don't need to say: You are so brave - I'm not You don't look sick - I am My great aunt had Stage 4 cancer and lived to 95 - good on her Have you tried a juicing diet? A protein diet? You just have to be positive - fuck off You need to find God - I don't But don't say NOTHING either Don't avoid me because you don't know what to say I need you to say 'It's absolute crap what's happened to you', And then treat me as you normally would The champagne's in the fridge Going to the market on Saturday All the familiar faces Who do I tell? It's so exhausting To cope with the well-intentioned responses So I shrivel up and come home

I thought it would help To connect and chat with others in the same boat But it didn't. It took me three days to recover from the phone call. I was polite. I listened. I made supportive noises For half an hour. Instead of telling her to fuck off. There was no connection despite the connection. Her survival was all due to the lord Her life was in the hands of the lord The lord decided everything for everybody The lord's plan had given her cancer And in doing so had saved her. A belief in God is not going to help me. Neither is juicing or meditation or positive thinking Promoted by self claimed healers. So where am I? Going with the science Give me the evidence The hard cold facts.

One in 8 women get breast cancer The overall five year survival rate is 90%. All that fund raising paid off One in 100 women get uterine cancer. There are no early symptoms. At Stage 4 some bleeding and bloating Too late - it has already spread Only one in 6 women will be alive five years later. That's 18%.